It would be so nice to be a pineapple. Pineapples don’t accidentally walk out of the wrong key texts doorway, buckle over the barrier and smack their face against their knees. Pineapples don’t do a special exam sweat into all of their clothes so that they smell the musky smell of rising panic long after you’ve finally calmed down. They just spend their lives swinging in the sun, on a Caribbean island, growing plump and sugary, until they are picked, flown abroad, and end up on a Dominos Hawaiian pizza.
I was thinking about the happy life of a pineapple whilst walking around Asda. My brother’s new nickname is ‘Sponge Ted, Square Head’ and it was somewhere around the biscuit section that I got to confusing my SpongeBob characters, and wondering if SpongeBob and the underwater pineapple are related, when I saw her, from top to toe, immaculate. Bouffant hair, high heels, a disturbingly pert bottom. My library nemesis.
Terrified that too much contact with friends will wreck my degree, I’ve replaced them all with one particular library chair which I’ve started referring to as ‘my usual’. ‘My usual’ and I have the most wonderful relationship. He is supportive and comforting, the perfect height, and cups my bottom just as I like it to be cupped. I couldn’t be happier in my chair-ship. We even got past the little chair-ship trouble (I caught him cheating on me with a physicist one morning) without any harsh words. The only problem with ‘my usual’ is the girl who sits at the opposite side of the room. ‘My usual’ and I are fairly intimidated by this girl. She arrives every morning as though she’s come from a top shop photo-shoot, waggling her tight-jeans like a metronome from the door into ‘her usual’ and then spending the next five hours flirting with the entire library, books and all. ‘My usual’ and I don’t like her. She’s far too attractive for the library. She’s much funnier than I am. She has time to brush her hair before going to asda. I bet she still has friends.
“Hey.” I nod enthusiastically, hiding my jealousy under a glorious, welcoming smile.
“… hi?” she replies, scared. She clearly has no idea who I am. A whole term I’ve been sitting opposite her in that library, watching the seats around her get filled with increasingly attractive men. I stomp past her angrily, and buy a pineapple.
I’m really looking forward to the end of this term. Firstly, I’m going to try to remember the names of my friends, and if I manage, I’m going to replace the library, with the Willow, and ‘my usual’ with them. I’m much better prepared to be outshone and then snubbed in a club than in asda. At least when that kind of thing happens in a club, I can blame my behaviour on alcohol, and then be sick on her.
what a fruitful article! I’m just pine-ing to meet you!